


A Toccata of Insomnia.

by BarPurple



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hallucinations, Insomnia, Inspired by Poetry, Sherlock Plays the Violin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 18:34:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1438507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock could go days without sleep during a case, but when insomnia strikes during a lull between cases the consulting detective's mind starts playing tricks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Toccata of Insomnia.

_"Those lesser thirds so plaintive, sixths diminished, sigh on sigh. . ."_

The sound of an unfamiliar voice cause Sherlock to slowly stop playing. He turned from the dark window to look around the dimly lit living room of 221B. Curled up on the sofa was the source of the voice; a young woman holding a book. Though he would never admit it Sherlock was confused. It was far too late for a client, wasn't it?

"Did John let you in?" he asked with only a little hesitation in his voice.

"Who's John? How did you get into my house?" she countered.

Her voice had the sing-song quality of someone who was very tired, but she didn't appear overly alarmed.

"You're in my flat. Sitting on my sofa."

It was a rather obvious statement that Sherlock would have never made if he wasn't so exhausted. Aha, of course that could explain all of this.

"I'm hallucinating. You are the product of my sleep deprived mind, nothing more."

It was a simple statement delivered with confidence, that quickly faded as the consulting detective's face settled into a puzzled frown.

"No. Wrong. It's only been seventy-two hours since I last slept. I don't start seeing things at this stage."

"It's been that long since I slept too and I do start seeing things after this long. Though I must admit a dressing gown clad violinists is a huge improvement on hedgehogs plotting revolutions."

His unexplained visitor was starting to look sleepier. Sherlock found himself yawning and shook his head to try to clear the grogginess. He flopped down on to the empty end of the sofa. Sleep would try to take him now he had a puzzle to solve. That's what had been missing for the past three days. There had been no case, no mental challenge to keep his mind busy. Ignoring his body's need for sleep during a case wasn't a problem, but insomnia while in the grip of boredom was intolerable.

_"Then they left you for their pleasure: till in due time, one by one,_

_Some with lives that came to nothing, some with deeds as well undone,_

_Death stepped tacitly and took them where they never see the sun."_

The probable hallucination on at the other end of the sofa recited a few lines of poetry, most likely from the book in her hand, but her eyes were drooping closed even as she spoke. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand and sleepily said;

"Maybe we're each other's hallucinations, Mr Holmes. The only thing I know for sure is we both need to sleep."

She snuggled done and rested her head on her arms with a sigh. Sherlock's eyes slid closed and fluttered slightly as he tried to force them open. He didn't succeed and within seconds the consulting detective was deep asleep.

John crept down the single flight of stairs from his room. He'd retreated upstairs a few hours ago after Sherlock's irritability had reached a new peak. It had been four days since their last case and three days since Sherlock had slept. While the lack of REM tempered the destructive nature of Sherlock's boredom it did nothing to curb the scathing comments.

Silence had blanketed the flat for the past half hour, which John found troubling. Quiet like this could mean that his mad scientist flatmate had decided to start mixing dangerous chemicals, or dissecting some of the body parts from the fridge. Neither of those would be a good idea considering Sherlock's current state.

The doctor took a deep breath and headed into the living room. He blew into out in one great relieved gush as he saw the lanky form of 221B's resident genius curled on the sofa sound asleep. Stepping softly John covered Sherlock with a blanket.

The exhausted man muttered and rolled over in his sleep dropping a book from his hand as he did so. John froze for a second terrified that the noise of the paperback hitting the floor would wake Sherlock. When the only response from the consulting detective was a gentle snore John relaxed. He picked up the book placing it out of the way on the coffee table and headed back to his bed hoping that Sherlock would sleep for at least six hours.

As John climbed the stairs he thought he heard a snatch of harpsichord music and the soft laugh of a woman. Shaking his head he pushed open his door and fell onto his welcoming bed.

**Author's Note:**

> The Robert Browning poem that inspired this can be found here -->  
> http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-toccata-of-galuppi-s/
> 
> This is the piece that I imagined Sherlock was playing -->  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ialoVTbpkMU
> 
> You should check both of these out as they are so very much better than the fic you're just struggled your way to the end of. Thanks for reading.


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